


red

by steepair



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, Red Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 08:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11825355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steepair/pseuds/steepair
Summary: Fifteen girls dive into a frozen Siberian lake.





	red

The water is cold. It almost steals the breath from her lungs, but Natalia does not gasp.

She is the first one out, and she is not surprised. She is the best among the recruits, excelling in all areas of their training. Though she is not the strongest or the fastest, she is the smartest, the quickest learner, and the most resourceful. She feels a burst of satisfaction for her accomplishments, but she quickly tamps it down.

The instructors talk about the importance of pride: pride for their great country, pride in being charged with such a vital responsibility. It is a special honor to be chosen to serve her country and her people, to be given the task of providing security, bringing justice, and creating peace. But pride must not lead to overconfidence and ambition. She is more skilled than the other girls, yes, but it does not mean _she_ is better. It only means she will better serve her Mother.

It is colder out of the water, and she shivers as the wind cuts deep into her bones.

She watches as the other girls pull themselves out. They huddle close, exhausted, and the trainers allow it.

All of them have made it out but for one. She struggles, arms swinging wildly, nails scratching at snow and ice, trying to find a hold. But she has expended too much energy, the cold water too much of a shock to her body and mind. She has forgotten her lessons.

The girls watch on, frozen in their huddle, and they are glad they were strong enough today.

“She is weak. How can weak children serve our Mother?” asks the Madame.

Nadezhda Andreyevna Utkina breaths in short, desperate gasps, lips blue. She has stopped struggling, her arms and head lying limp on the ice. She will not pull herself out, and they will not help her. She will die. And she knows it.

Natalia shouldn’t care. Nadezhda is her competition. These girls, huddled next to her, desperate to keep warm, are her competition. The program started with twenty-eight girls. Now there are fifteen. This should feel good. She is strong. She is the best. She will live and go on to serve her country.

They are competition. But they are also all the same. They have all been chosen. It is a privilege and hardship no one else can understand. Through their shared experiences and training, they have developed a sort of kinship. Like siblings, they fight and squabble and betray, because only the best will survive. But also like siblings, they share small moments of kindness and comfort and confidence, because they will receive it nowhere else.

Nadezhda has been kind to her. Years ago, when Natalia was sick with fever and before the trainers cuffed them to their beds, Nadezhda had brushed back her sweaty hair and offered up her own threadbare blanket, leaving herself to shiver through the unforgiving winter night with nothing but her nightdress. They were both punished for it, but Natalia can still feel Nadezhda’s soft, gentle touch, her hands not yet calloused from regular weapons handling. The warmth of the memory fills her up, fighting off the hypothermic chill.

Nadezhda’s body slips under the surface. Natalia races forward.

She can hardly hear the shouting of Madame or the quiet gasps of the other girls over her own heartbeat, and then she hears nothing but that pounding in her chest and in her head as she dives in again. She does not feel the shock this time.

Nadezhda is sinking. Her eyes are wide open, arms outstretched. Natalia grabs her hand.

She breaks the surface, pulling the other girl up with her. She slides herself up onto the ice, keeping a firm grip on Nadezhda’s hand, and then drags the other girl out and away from the water.

Nadezhda is blue and not breathing, and Natalia can’t feel her fingers, and she is shaking, but she will save her. She does not hear the approaching footsteps, all she knows is cold and blue. She bends down, and her lips barely graze Nadezhda’s before strong hands take hold of her arms and pull her away.

She struggles and tries to break free, bucking her body, digging her feet into the snow, anything. She yells and screams and pleads, and she feels like a child throwing a tantrum, but her friend (her _friend_ , she realizes, her _sister_ ) is blue and still, and she can help. She quiets as she sees Madame take measured steps towards the motionless girl.

Madame pulls her gun from the holster and fires.

Nadya was blue, but now she is red, and Natalia cannot help her anymore.

Madame approaches her, but she only sees the red. Madame grabs her chin and lifts her head up to meet unfeeling eyes, colder than the lake and the ice and the snow beneath her fingers. “You will walk back to the compound, Natalia. If you can make it.” She will make it, because she is the best. Madame knows this. She removes her hand and nods to the guards still holding Natalia.

A rifle butt meets the back of her head, and the red explodes into white. She collapses to the ground, no time to curl protectively before feet dig into her ribs and back. A boot meets her face, and she feels warmth soaking down her lips and over her chin. She is not concerned with this. She is an expensive asset, and the guards are too well-trained, too _terrified_ to cause permanent damage. It is painful, but it will heal.

The assault ends as quickly as it started. Her eyes are closed, and she listens as their heavy footfalls move away from her, towards Nadya.

“What about the body?” one of them asks. Bondarev, she thinks, an empty-headed grunt with terrible aim and thick, meaty fingers.

“Leave it for the wolves.”

Natalia does not move. She imagines hearing the chattering teeth of half frozen girls. She can almost feel their relief. They have survived another test, and soon they will be back at the compound, out of the piercing wind. Perhaps they will even be rewarded for their acceptable performance by being allowed to change out of their wet clothes before the next lesson.

She hears their shuffling footsteps, hears them settle in the back of the trucks. She listens until she can no longer hear the roar of engines. She still does not move.

She isn’t sure how long she lies there. The blood running down her face is cooling, thickening. It spreads out on the snow under her, bright and blending with her damp, tangled hair. She has always been red.

Eventually she struggles to her feet, stumbles forward. She looks down at Nadya, at the body, red still spilling out of her head. But Nadya is not like Natalia. She is not red. She is still beautiful blue, eyes and lips and skin, like she belongs to the ice and snow. She is a girl, and she is the lake that drowned her, and she has only ever belonged to the tundra.

Natalia contemplates moving her back into the water, to return her to the blue. She walks away.

She can still feel Nadezhda Andreyevna Utkina’s gentle touch on her forehead, but it no longer brings her warmth. She will weather the cold anyway. She has always been red, born of fire, and she can survive any chill.

When she returns to the compound at dusk, hypothermic, toes and fingers nearly frostbitten through, they warm her body and treat her injuries with careful precision, and then they treat her mind with equal precision.

* * *

Natalia remembers fifteen girls dove into a frozen Siberian lake. She remembers only fourteen came back out. And when she is laid out with pneumonia a week later, she remembers being sick with fever many years ago, shivering in her cot with only a thin blanket for warmth.

What she does not remember is a cool, soothing hand pressed against her burning forehead.


End file.
